


Long Time, No See

by LunerSoul997



Series: To Hear Your Song Again [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, And a lil anxious, And boy does he need a break, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Gen, Im sorry its like one in the morning on a weekday this is a mess, Light Angst, M/M, Not just angst i swear it gets happy kinda in some spots, Oh right tags shit, Pre-Avengers (2012), Reunions, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is on an emotional rollercoaster without breaks, Steve is salty as hell, Wait yes, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Steve Rogers, Werewolf family feels, Werewolves, and also very sad, and he fucking gets one, i may have projected a little, just a smidge, thats new huh, wait no, what was I doing again, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunerSoul997/pseuds/LunerSoul997
Summary: "Here we are!"Steve blinks and realizes that they've stopped. Looking at the door, he finds himself stuck between bone-crushing dread and the euphoric sort of joy one feels when they return home for the first time in years.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Rebecca Barnes Proctor & Steve Rogers
Series: To Hear Your Song Again [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031286
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what tome it is~is~
> 
> That's right, angst time. But also not too bad angst and some happy time. :D

He closes the door behind him and looks around his barren SHEILD-issued apartment. The light outside the windows cast harsh shadows across the floor and walls, the scarcely used furniture creating voids of darkness. 

He debates turning on the lights, but his eyes were already adjusting to the darkness and he didn't really feel like blinding himself. 

He walks to the kitchen, shedding his jacket along the way. He runs his teeth over his scabbed knuckles. Gnawing on his thumbnail, he opens the fridge, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. He sighs at what he finds.

A half-empty carton of milk, some ketchup packets, and a package of hotdogs.

He moves the milk aside, hoping that something might magically appear behind it. He needs to go shopping. He feels exhausted by just the _thought_ of it.

His eyes catch on something. It had been hidden behind the milk. He frowns and pulls it out of the fridge. 

A stark white piece of paper, crisply folded into fourths. He flips it over and finds his name written in flowing cursive. Curiously, he scents it.

_Ink, Cloves, Cigar Smoke. Wolf._

"Huh," he mumbles, carefully unfolding it. He begins reading, frowns, and tries again. It was written in ancestral Irish, his family dialect.

_'Hello, Steven. I've had quite the time getting this to you. Those government folks sure don't want anyone talking to you, eh?_

_Anyway, I have a message that I need to pass along. Unfortunately, it's better said in person. Would you kindly meet me at the address on the back at 1200 hours, 12th of February? I'll be waiting._

_Sincerely, Emily'_

He flipped the letter over and sure enough, an address was written in the same loopy handwriting. He looks at the clock on the stove. 3:00 am, 12th of February.

He wonders if it was a trap. He wonders if he wants it to be.

###

Steve steps into the café and looks around. The scent of another wolf was heavy in the air. They'd been here for a while. He follows his nose, walking through the café, towards a booth in the back.

A young woman sits in the booth, a book on the table in front of her. Her shoulder-length chestnut brown curls glow a golden caramel in the sunlight. It was a very familiar sight, albeit with slightly longer hair.

"Emily?"

The young woman looks up from her book and smiles warmly. Lips over teeth. Non-threatening, a reassurance. It's comforting to know that no matter how many years he's missed werewolves haven't changed.

"Hello, Steve."

Steve takes a seat across from her. The sun shines in his eyes, but he ignores it. "I'm surprised that you managed to get a hold of me," he says with a crooked sort of smile. Teeth bared. "My _saviours_ seem to think that it's within their right to withhold information from me."

He might be a little bitter.

"And what do you think?"

"That they're too big for their britches," Steve says. Then he frowns, thinking of the note. "How _did_ you manage to get that message to me?"

Emily shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear and exposing her neck. A placation. "I have my ways.,"

"And those ways include sneaking a paper note into a refrigerator," Steve deadpans.

"Sometimes."

Silence settled over them like a blanket. Blue eyes ask a single question. Your turn or mine? Steve was almost tempted not to answer, to see how long it took this woman to crack. Almost.

He cocks his head and smiles without teeth. "Why _did_ you contact me?"

"My family asked me to," she says, as though it were obvious.

"Again, why? Do I know them?"

Emily hums, tilting her hand in a so-so gesture. "A few of them. You may know my grandmother, Rebecca Procter?"

Steve blinks, all movement halting abruptly. "Becca?"

Emily nods. Steve hesitantly holds out his hand, palm up. Emily smiles in amusement and indulges him, placing her hand over his and allowing him to scent her.

_Ink, Cloves, Cigar Smoke. Wolf, Barnes, Pack._

Steve drops her hand, fingers suddenly numb. He takes a shaky breath. "Jesus."

Emily cocks a brow, eyes sharpening. "What? It didn't occur to you that we'd still be around?"

"Didn't want to get my hopes up," Steve whispers.

The she-wolf softens. "Well, Grandma Becca wanted me to give you a message."

Steve looks away. "Why not contact me herself?"

"Too risky. She looks like she's in her sixties, Steve," Emily says. "And, somehow, our existence isn't common knowledge yet."

"'Best kept secret in the history of mankind,'" Steve quotes George, his mouth automatically forming the words he'd heard so many times in his youth. "What did she want to tell me?"

Emily sighs and slides an envelope across the table. "That there's nothing to forgive."

Steve slowly picks up the envelope. "I guess they got my message, then?"

"They did," Emily confirms.

Steve looks from her to the envelope and back. She nods. He carefully unseals it and shakes its contents out onto the table. There, on the faux-wooden café table rests three items: a burner phone, and a pair of silver rings.

"Winnie's doing?" He asks thickly.

"She always felt so guilty that you two never got a wedding."

"We got more than either of us could have hoped for," he whispers. A caring hand covers his own.

"I'm sorry." She doesn't need to say what for. He already knows.

Steve clears his throat. "What's the phone for?"

Emily takes her hand back, tucks them together in her lap. "All of us have one."

Steve raises a questioning brow. 

Emily meets his eyes, gold flashing in them briefly. Confirmation. Unessasary, but appreciated. "We both know how long lone wolves survive, hmm? You'll always have a place in this family if you want it."

Steve clenches his jaw and ducks his head to hide his tears. He never, not even once, thought that they would take him back. He hadn't considered himself part of a pack for months. Not since he died.

"Do you have somewhere to spend the moon?"

"No."

Emily hums. "Grandpa Richard bought the forest a few miles out of the city back in the fifties. Turned it into a nature reserve."

Steve wipes his cheeks with a laugh. "Sounds like something he'd do. Wealthy bastard," he says, straightening. "How is he?"

"He's fine. He and Grandma still live in 302."

"302?"

"Oh, right, duh," Emily says, thumping her forehead. "He also bought the family apartment building. It's gone through some renovations, obviously- mostly just to keep it upright. Apart from that though, it hasn't changed much."

Steve blinks. "Our den is still there?" He asks with disbelief and elation.

"Mhm," Emily nods. "You can come and see it if you want," Steve agrees immediately, and she smirks before adding, "Next moon."

She pushes the phone towards him. Steve sighs. He tucks the phone into his right pocket and the rings into the left.

"Prepare yourself," Emily says, tucking her book into her bag. She stands, smiling. "Our family has grown a lot since 1945."

Steve stands and shakes her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Emily."

"Emma's fine," she says, smiling wider. "But it was nice to meet you too, Steve."

He watches her leave, feeling hopeful and happy for the first time since he woke up. (Since he died)

###

Steve checks the phone again. With an unsteady breath, he looks up at the building. It was well-maintained. The brick a slightly redder tinge then when he'd left, and the fire escapes and the window panes had been replaced at some point. But, apart from minor details, it looked the same as it had before he'd been whisked off to boot camp.

Steve bites his lip and slips the phone back into his pocket. God, what was he doing? He couldn't actually _go inside,_ could he? They don't want him there, not really. And who could blame them? He got Bucky killed mere months before the war ended and then couldn't even find the balls to apologize in person. Instead, he nose-dived into the arctic. Instead, he had poor Peggy deliver the message. 

God, he doesn't think he'll survive it, Becca's hatred, Sammie's malice, Joyce's disgust, Edith's horror. It would kill him, it would be the final blow in the meta shit show his life has become. The grand finale. They probably only invited him so that they could disown him in person. Why did he come here? God, he's such an _idiot-_

"You just gonna stand there all day?" 

Steve yelps and whirls around. Emily lounged against the doorway with a confused but pleased smile on her face. Steve looks around for an excuse to leave, to spare himself the pain. _God fucking damn it,_ when did he become such a coward? 

"Well?" Emily presses, raising a brow.

He clears his throat. "Uh, no." 

"Eloquent," Emily remarks. She steps aside and waves dramatically inside, as though to say 'well, come on then,'.

With dread weighing heavy on his shoulders, he steps across the threshold.

Emily leads him up the stairs. Stairs that were simultaneously familiar and foreign. The scent of wolves permeates the air, strong and sharp. The scent is so prominent that Steve doubts that humans have ever even _entered_ the building (let alone _lived_ in it) even after growing up here and knowing all of his human neighbours by name.

 _Wolf, Barnes, Pack. Den._ His nose tells him. He swallows his bile and breathes through his mouth. _Not for long,_ he reminds himself.

"Here we are!" 

Steve blinks and realizes that they've stopped. Looking at the door, he finds himself stuck between bone-crushing dread and the euphoric sort of joy one feels when they return home for the first time in years.

Numbers the colour of bronze proudly declare the apartment to be 304. The apartment he'd spent much of his life in was just beyond the dark-stained door. The apartment he'd lived in with his mother and later Bucky was just across the hall. 

Distracted by the sudden wave of memories, it took him a moment to catch the scent of individuals. Scents he had thought lost to time.

_Old Books, Ink, Mice. Becca- Sunlight, Blood, Roses. Sammie- Lavender Oil, Soap, Vanilla. Joyce- Cinnamon, Pine Needles, Snow. Edie- Pack._

"Steve?" 

He hums. The scents mingle in the hallway, cling to the walls and ceiling, and he's suffocating in them. His eyes struggle to focus, his ears ring, the scents almost mock him with the comfort that they bring.

"Are you alright?"

Steve clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright..." Emily doesn't seem convinced. She gives him a concerned look before knocking on the door.

No backing out now. 

The door swings open. It takes him a second to place her face, but when he does...

"Becca," he breathes.

She smiles tearfully. "Hi, Steve."

Next thing he knows she's hugging him. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. He breathes in her scent of books and mice, the very same scent she'd carried since they were kids. _Pack._

His eyes sting and he chokes. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Becca says firmly. 

"But-"

"Steve," Becca cuts him off. "There's nothing you can say to change my mind."

Steve buries his face in her hair. "It's my fault."

"Bullshit, Rogers. You may think that's true, but nobody else does," Becca says. "I've read the report."

"You have?" Steve asks, pulling away slightly.

Becca hums. "Peggy was kind enough to provide a copy. Entirely illegally, I'm sure."

Steve laughs breathlessly. "Sounds like her."

Becca steps back. "Do you need a minute?"

"No," Steve says, wiping his tears away, sniffing. "No, I'm fine."

"Alright," Becca says dubiously. "Come meet your family, then."

His family. She wasn't going to kick him out? No, no, she would never do that. He _knows_ that she would never do that. Why did he think she would?

"Oh, okay," he says, following her and Emily inside.

Wow, Emily wasn't kidding when she said that the family had grown. 

He counts at least twenty people in the living room, talking amongst themselves. A crash sounds from the kitchen, followed by uneasy looks from some of the adults. 

He looks around the apartment. The layout and furniture had changed quite a bit, but the art on the walls had stayed the same (most of which he had done).

"Get outta here, demons!" Someone shouts from the other room. A gaggle of children comes running out of the kitchen, giggling and pushing past one another.

Steve blinks. "Huh."

"Not quite what you're used to?" Emily asks.

"No, it's just that I'm usually the one breaking things," Steve says.

Emily laughs and Becca nods sagely. "Remember Ma's china?"

Steve shudders. "God, she nearly skinned me for that."

"Probably would have if Edie hadn't taken half of the blame."

"Must be nice being the adorable child," Steve says.

"Can't relate," Becca sighs.

"Hello, my love," says a man with round glasses before he slings an arm over Becca's shoulder. He looks over at Steve and smiles warmly. "I see that Emma managed to contact you."

Steve struggles to place him for a moment. Suddenly his scent hits him and he's thrown back to the wedding he'd attended back in '40. "Jesus, Richard?"

Richard laughs. "Hey, Steven. Long time no see, eh?"

Becca elbows him and Richard groans dramatically. Emily rolls her eyes at them. 

Warmth floods his chest at the domestic scene. He remembers their wedding like it was yesterday. The light of the full moon flooded the empty field as the young couple took their ancestral vows and were bound together by blood and magic and love. He remembers it because of the beautiful ceremony, yes, but also because that was the night he told him that he intended to court him. 

"How have you been?" Steve asks the man.

Richard raises his eyebrows. "Oh, not so bad. I'm a reporter now."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"Boring as fuck,"

"Better than accounting, I'd think," Steve says.

Richard nods, conceding that. 

"Okay," Emily drawls. "If you two are just gonna make small talk all night then imma just," she hooks a thumb over her shoulder before slinking away.

Or, trying to. Becca holds an arm out to stop her. "Hold on there, miss. Show Steve around, hmm? Catch him up on some things."

Emily almost groans but restrains herself. She nods and motions for Steve to follow her. She leads him to an empty seat and waves at it. Taking the hint, he sits down and she sits on the armrest.

"Okay, so there are forty-two people in our family, not including you and me. Seven kids and thirty-five adults. All of us live in this building and we all meet up here -in 304- for events. You got all that?"

Slowly, Steve nods.

"Good. Now-"

What follows is a detailed summary of the family members' occupations and interests, an alphabetical list of the in-laws, and whose related to who in so-and-so manner.

By the end of it, Steve has a headache and had retained almost none of the information.

"Okay, so Milo- the one who's married to Marie, not the librarian- is a witch, right? And he hooked us up with these handy little charms that allow us to keep our clothes when we shift."

Steve blinks. "How?"

Emily shrugs. "I dunno. Ask Milo," she pulls something out of her pocket and hands it to him. "Here's a temporary one. He says he'll enchant something permanent for you before the next moon. Is there anything, in particular, you want to have done?"

"Well, what do people usually get done?"

Emily hums, thinking. "Necklaces, bracelets, scent charms. Anything that can easily be worn while in wolf form."

"I, uh." He pulls a pair of dog tags up from underneath his shirt. How they survived the ocean is a mystery, but here they were. The very same pair he had given him the day he left. 

"Those will do." Emily nods. She holds her hand out and he reluctantly gives them to her. She smiles reassuringly. "I'll get them back to you as soon as possible."

Steve thanks her and she leaves him to go find Milo. He inspects the charm she gave him. It was suspended on a long and thin strip of leather, clinging to it via a metallic hoop. The charm itself was a simple five-point star cast in silver and pulsing with magical energy.

He slips it over his head and tucks it under his shirt. 

"Okay!" Emily plops back down on the armrest. "I gave it to Milo and he's going to work on it. That charm fit okay?"

Steve tugs at the leather. It was very loose, with the charm falling almost to his stomach. Luckily, he knows from experience how much wiggle room should be left for the fur. "Think so."

"Good. I asked Milo how it works, and he has no idea. He only knows what it does. Essentially, that thing just takes the clothes you're wearing and stores them in a sort of pocket dimension when you change forms. When you change back, it puts your clothes back on you the exact way there were."

"Handy," Steve murmurs, playing with the cord. 

Emily nods. "That being said, he doesn't recommend wearing shoes, as they might get stuck in the ground on the return trip, causing some... Not great things."

Steve nods to show that he understands. "No shoes, got it."

"Good- remember, that's Milo," she says, pointing him out in the crowd.

"Right," Steve says, committing his face to memory.

Emily checks her watch. "We should be heading out soon. Did you drive here?"

"Took the subway."

"Fantastic. We already have the vans rented- you might have seen them parked outside?" He nods. "Well, that's how we get there. I'll ride with you tonight and introduce you to a few people."

Steve goes to respond, only to cut himself off. _Cinnamon, Pine Needles, Snow. E-_

"Steve."

He turns to the source of the voice and ends up blinking dumbly at the person he finds.

Edie smiles. "Hi."

"Holy shit," Steve breathes, taking in the young woman who had been just shy of sixteen the last time he'd seen her. Now, she appeared to be in her late forties, the ageing of werewolves proving once again to be both a blessing and a curse.

Edith laughs. "Eloquent as ever, Rogers."

"Still sassy, then?"

She rolls her eyes. "Only to you."

"She lied."

"You know what, you little shit?"

Emily laughed and left them to catch up, promising to send the other Barnes sisters over. Steve was sure to thank her for her help before she left.

Soon Joy, Sammie, and Becca joined them. They told Steve about their lives, about their careers, about their mates, about their children and their children's children.

Becca teaches English literature at the community college. She and Richard had had three children, two boys and a girl. Their oldest son, George Proctor (named after Becca's father) was Emily's father.

Joy had married a wolf named Isaac in 1950 and they had had two daughters together. She was a published novelist, primarily writing fiction stories.

Sammie was an underground boxer, which somehow fits perfectly with Steve's mental picture of her. She had married a wolf named Abigail and they had a son.

Edie was an investigative journalist. She and her partner (Lio, a human, oddly enough) were getting married in the fall.

Steve has difficulty paying attention to some of the conversations. These are the girls he'd grown up with, the ones who taught him how to braid and where to aim a solid kick. Just a couple of years ago he was at Becca's wedding, watching a thirteen year old Edith toss wild daisy petals at the couple's feet. And now Edie herself was getting married. At eighty-five.

Even sat among his pack, the people he trusts more than himself, who he loves with _every fibre of his being,_ he can't help but feel like it's too late for him. 

He can't help but feel like his life ended with Bucky's. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Trouble sleeping?"

Steve bares his teeth. Oh, how he loathed that voice. It represented his loss, and his bittersweet 'victory'. It reminded him that no one here cares about him, they only care about what he's good for.

"I slept for seventy years, sir!" Steve says with false cheer. "I think I've had my fill."

"You should be out there, seeing the world," Fury says.

Steve huffs, beginning to unwrap his knuckles. He was already tired of the Director's game. The games Fury played were exhausting and costly. "You here with a mission for me, sir?" He asks.

He doesn't need to ask. They always had a mission for him. It's all he was good for. 

"I am."

And they never prove him wrong.

"Trying to get me out in the world?"

"Trying to _save_ it."

Oh? Steve takes the file Fury hands him. He doesn't like what he sees. _At all._

"HYDRA's secret weapon," he says, spitting out the name like it was poison. 

"Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you," Fury says. "He thought what we think- that The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy."

Steve cocks a brow.

"That's something the world sorely needs," Fury says.

It takes all of Steve's willpower not to laugh. 'Unlimited sustainable energy'. Yeah right, Steve would bet his left arm that they were making weapons. If there's anything Steve knows about humans, it's that they were never satisfied- there was always more land, more influence, more _power-_ and they salivated for it like starved _dogs,_ ripping each other apart over the smallest scrap.

It was unbecoming.

He gave Fury the file back. "Who took it from you?"

"He's called Loki. He's... Not from around here," Fury says. "There's a lot well have to catch you up to speed on if you're in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know,"

"At this point, I don't think anything could surprise me," Steve says, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Ten bucks says your wrong."

Steve nods, although he finds it unlikely. He'd grown up a werewolf, his neighbour Mrs. Douglas had been a witch, he'd made friends with the faerie boys who lived in the forest that his pack transformed in. Strangeness was in his blood.

"There's a debriefing packet waiting for you back at your apartment," Fury says as Steve walks away.

Yeah, sure, break into his apartment and invade his privacy instead of, oh, sending an email? Totally reasonable and not at all violating, thanks. 

"Is there anything you know about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?" Fury asks his retreating back.

"You shoulda left it in the ocean!" Steve chimes bitterly.


End file.
